


blink twice (if you still love me)

by xylomylo



Series: say you'll remember me [2]
Category: TWICE (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F, Hotel Del Luna - Freeform, Reincarnation, hdl retelling ish but also different, not haidilao
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-28
Updated: 2020-06-28
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:14:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24959728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xylomylo/pseuds/xylomylo
Summary: “Don’t cry when you send me off, Yoo Jeongyeon.” Nayeon hits her shoulder lightly. Slaps on a band-aid quickly, before Jeongyeon can see the ugliness of it all. Tries to joke her way out of this, because humour is an all-purpose solution to everything. “I don’t want your ugly snotty face to be the last thing I see in this life.”
Relationships: Im Nayeon/Yoo Jeongyeon
Series: say you'll remember me [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1717936
Comments: 12
Kudos: 137





	blink twice (if you still love me)

**Author's Note:**

> 2yeon story of the hdl au!! title from blink twice by joy oladokun. also a second attempt (?) at fully sentenced capitalisation :>
> 
> also can be read as a standalone!! but if you read the part 1 of this series then :>
> 
> also i listened to this while writing majority of it c:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2HTagJH7iAA

  
  
  


/

  
  
  


For someone who has roamed the earth for about a thousand years, Nayeon thinks she’s probably seen it all. Wars. Plagues. Famine. The Great Depression. The unthinkable. The weirdest things, to make her jaw drop. Living life in both rags and in riches would definitely have allowed her to experience the spectrum of the wonders of the world, but alas:

She stares at the tree. The one in the middle of the garden. The one that she was so convinced was dead _ ,  _ simply because it  _ was _ , with its bark peeling and branches empty ever since the first time she saw it. 

Today, it stands dignified, in front of her, with purple flowers decorating every branch, bright and twinkling. As though it has its shoulders raised, nose in the air, with its pride a sticky sheen that Nayeon can’t help but to admire a little longer, despite having been proven wrong. 

Well. Shit. One of the downsides to living for a really, really long time? Things blur. Time loses its meaning. On some days she thinks she can forget, but something drastic happens to put her in her place, and remind her of her actual purpose: something like this. Something impossible. Because only the Deities could make the impossible possible, and this time, Nayeon thinks she should probably have been a little less ignorant. Maybe take them a little more seriously, since she’s practically living under their rule. 

But it’s so easy to ignore the things that you don’t see every day. Even more so, if they are things you don’t want to believe, or don’t want to happen. Things you don’t want to face. Like her worst fear. A thousand years, and Nayeon  _ hates  _ how she still feels the ice-cold unease creeping up the notches of her spine, at the mere thought of it. She shudders. Then feels the anger right beneath the ice, simmering, but not hot enough to melt through it today — 

There are footsteps hurrying in, and Nayeon takes a step closer to the tree. Hides her body behind the width of its reliable thickness. Doesn’t really want to talk, because one: she doesn’t know how to explain this impossible situation to Sana and Momo (of course it has to be them); and two: she can’t even understand it properly herself. Tries to collect her thoughts, and recall a conversation almost a thousand years ago. What did Nice Jihyo say about the tree?

Something about it being tied to her. This one she knows for sure. Then something about it blooming one day, and then she would finally meet  _ her _ . And leave behind everything. Ugh. Takes a deep breath to push her emotions down. She still has time, and she will take every second she gets just to drag the inevitable out. As long as she can. 

“Holy shit,” a voice cuts through her thoughts. It’s Sana after all, sounding as shell shocked as any of them would have been. As any of them are. “It actually looks pretty.” 

Nayeon wants to laugh at the incredulity of it all. The prettiest flower, bringing the ugliest of her fears a step closer to fruition. Also effectively cutting short all of their timelines on earth, because if she were to leave, the hotel would probably be gone, too. Technically. There are too many technicalities interwoven in this tangle of traditions and rule-dominated fate, and Nayeon is really, really sick of it all. But the guilt is bitter at the back of her throat, because this is still her fault, and she thinks of both Sana’s and Momo’s unfinished business here—

She definitely owes them an apology. Bites her lip. Musters up courage from whatever’s left of her sanity, and steps out of her hiding place. Faces them head on.

“They are,” Nayeon offers. Takes temporary respite in the comical shock on both Sana’s and Momo’s faces. It’s been a long time — seventy years for Sana, and a hundred years for Momo — they still get scared every time she sneaks up on them. This is something she is sure she will miss when it all blows over: quality companionship, petty squabbling, and steadfast loyalty.

She reaches out. Touches a petal from a branch at eye-level. It’s soft. Cool between her fingers. Makes her think of Jeongyeon, and her mouth does the thing where it says whatever comes to mind. This is Sana and Momo, and it’s not like she has anything to hide. 

“It happened last night,” Nayeon recounts. “Jeongyeon said she fell asleep here during her break, and woke up to see the tree covered in flowers.” Thinks about how ridiculous it was. Like a scene straight out of an anime, and snorts. “Girlie said she almost had an aneurysm.”

But the apology doesn’t make it out of her lips. Gets stuck somewhere in her mouth, because it is gibberish that sits weirdly on her tongue. It’s like her mind freezes, and her thoughts weigh on the things she has carried for a thousand years. She looks at Sana, who is already smiling, and sees in her eyes the quiet understanding that they have always shared; and in the middle of it all, a light that is bright enough to pull her out of her impending breakdown. Clings to it like a moth to a flame, and commits to the deflection. 

“And then Mina can come?” Sana is teasing. Hopeful. Nayeon rolls her eyes, but the smile that stretches over her face says it all.

“I already asked you to bring the girl here!” She huffs. Falls back into their banter easily. Her mind calms, eyes darting to see Momo mime a whipping action. ”Why are you going around cursing other people? The audacity —”

“Cursing?” Sana fights back hard. Nayeon feels alive again. “You were the one who said she almost died—” 

“An aneurysm isn’t the same as dying, Sana.” She lets herself laugh. “Maybe you should consider going back to school with Mina for a refresher—”

Then it happens. A slight shift in the air. Of course she notices, because Nice Jihyo always has good timing, with her clean and clear voice cutting through whatever jovial atmosphere they had just barely established. Nayeon instinctively looks to Momo. Sees the other girl’s face pale as she takes a step back, but Sana is already there, reassuring, and Nayeon turns to face the inevitable.

“Ah, it has bloomed. Isn’t it pretty?” Nice Jihyo smiles. Her eyes curve up. Nayeon knows she is genuine. The flowers are pretty. Probably the prettiest ones to exist in this garden, because of some magical property they radiate.

“Of course,” she deadpans. “My soul is tied to it, so it’s obviously got to be as beautiful as me.” Watches the mirth in the Goddess’s eyes, and keeps her poker face. But Nice Jihyo obviously has no regard for that whatsoever, and bursts out in giggles. Damn it.

“You’re changing, Im Nayeon.” Nice Jihyo says, regal and serious. “I hope you’ll be ready.” 

Ready? Oh. It takes about two seconds for Nayeon to realise that Nice Jihyo is about to drop another one of her cryptic bombs from the Deities, and that she  _ should  _ be listening with, at bare minimum, one hundred percent of her attention. 

“Ready for what?” 

“To be brave.” Nice Jihyo’s eyes bore into hers. Fierce. The message is there, but some part of her that has committed to Sana’s deflection doesn’t let it sink in. Because it always sounds terribly corny and cheesy, and with the slight twitch in Nice Jihyo’s upper lip, Nayeon knows she feels the same. 

But the moment passes as Nice Jihyo moves on to Sana, and Nayeon lets herself bask in the darkness away from the spotlight as Sana takes center stage (unwillingly). Sees the gears in the other girl’s head turn as the Goddess does her job perfectly: asking the right questions, to make Sana put the pieces together. Things with fate are never directly spelled out, and Nayeon likes to think all of them have upgraded inference skills by now, as compared to whoever they were when they first started out on this journey. 

Sana’s eyes are cloudy. Nayeon crosses her fingers. Hopes that Mina and her can have more time. Or, even better, a different fate. But that borderlines on disillusionment, and Nayeon knows better. Clenches her fist, because they are all pawns in a game with an outcome already destined to play out. 

Nice Jihyo leaves, in a gust of wind. Nayeon does not appreciate the literal (mini) storm she leaves behind. Spits out the strands of hair that made their way into her mouth. Then decides to catch her later, for some late night thoughts and gossip, because she knows for a fact that Nice Jihyo is as bored as she is.

Maybe she’ll also ask about Jeongyeon’s relevance in this whole thing. 

(It’s not like she doesn’t have her own conjecture already, but if she’s right, she might just ruin everything. On her own.)

Momo sighs. It’s for all of them, she knows. Asks the question that’s on all of their minds, and Nayeon only laughs. Because it’s the one thing she can do, right now, that doesn’t make her feel like shit.

Other than drinking. 

  
  
  


/

  
  
  


The beach is endless. Paradise, in the best way possible, with lukewarm sunlight (although slightly glaring, but not enough to bother her right now), medium tides, and the unending horizon to gaze at. The waves crash against the shore, ranging from twelve to twenty-four waves per minute; a serenity Nayeon has spent most of eternity loving.

It’s the secret formula she’s developed over the years, that sits right in the middle of too much repetition and too little variation. A small comfort, to drown out her thoughts. Her default setting, which Sana probably set up, once Nayeon had made it known that she was going to spend the rest of the day basking in pseudo sun. Nothing out of the ordinary, really. Other than Nice Jihyo’s words ringing in her mind. The way they obnoxiously glow even behind her eyelids: to be brave. 

Okay. Like, for what? Crossing into the afterlife? Easy. She’s already sent off enough guests to know what it’s like. Nice Jihyo tells her stories, too. It is a concept as simple as Nike — Just Do It. Plus, she’s already doing everything the Goddess asked for. Manning the hotel. Paying for her sins. Waiting, and waiting, for the source of her deep-seated grudge to appear right before her very eyes.

She clenches her fists around the sides of the beach chair. Even today, she struggles to remember. Feels the memories slipping, with the dilution of time; faces are blurred, in the replays of her past. The hatred is still there. On some days it boils over and makes her want to stab something (someone). But on most days, it merely caresses the scar seared into her a thousand years ago, with a deep nameless fury pinched into folds Nayeon holds onto anywhere, anytime. 

Her resolve does not waver. She will wait. For  _ her.  _ For the girl she once gave her heart out to, only to have it returned in bits and pieces of charred betrayal. The anger shoots up a notch higher, when Nayeon is reminded, again, of the fact that she no longer remembers  _ her  _ name. Something along the lines of the redemption arc that Nice Jihyo wants her to progress along. Forgive and forget, or some shit like that. Forgiveness does not come easy, when the hurt still echoes deep in her bones. 

“Sana told me you were here.” Jeongyeon settles on the beach chair beside hers. Her presence is a nice distraction from the earlier brooding, and Nayeon enjoys how the other girl can easily filter out the past for her. Snaps her back to the present. The gears in her head stop turning.

“Why are you here?” Nayeon spares a glance away from the sea. “It’s your off day. Don’t you want a work life balance?” Takes in the sight of Jeongyeon in something else other than a three-piece suit, and keeps the raised eyebrows to a minimum.

Here’s the thing: No human manager has ever worn a three-piece. Other than Jeongyeon, who never shuts up about the basic standards of being a service staff. Apparently, dressing the part makes a huge difference, and Nayeon will not be seen arguing for something she has no opinion on. But, frankly? She’s not going to mind the extra eye candy. Jeongyeon’s suits always outline the small dip of her waist, despite encompassing the colour range of a grayscale printer. 

“Dahyun’s busy at the restaurant.” The other girl leans back comfortably. It seems like she’s here to stay. “Why are you always chasing me away?” It is a joke dusted with residual hurt that Nayeon picks up on immediately, and she already has several retorts at the back of her tongue ready to fight with. Like how it’s because Jeongyeon’s too annoying. Restricts her budget way too much. And how she could always call Mina —

(She can’t. Mina’s just a kid, and she doesn’t want to take this away from Sana. Besides, she knows nothing about taxes and bookkeeping — how was she supposed to teach Mina?) 

But she doesn’t. It’s all sorts of weird. Her tongue feels too thick.

“I’m sorry.” Nayeon blames it on the horizon, a soothing orange landscape that melts away her sharpness, momentarily. “No more of that. You’re here to stay. I already told everyone.” 

“Finally.” Jeongyeon kicks her shoes off. “An approval from my boss. I think I might cry.” Places a hand dramatically on her chest, and Nayeon doesn’t need to look to know that the other girl is grinning. Her chest loosens. The sun rays feel warmer. 

The waves fill the silence that follows. There is nothing uncomfortable about it, and sunset appreciation hours have once again opened. “Isn’t it beautiful?” 

“The best,” Jeongyeon sighs contentedly. “My dad used to tell me about this beach, and how staring at the waves seemed to take away everything that weighed him down.” Something trickles into her voice. It turns wistful. Nayeon’s vision dims. 

It’s a funny story: Jeongyeon’s dad, who passed years ago, found his way to one of their dream telephones and called Jeongyeon. Came to her in a dream, told her all about this hotel, and how he wishes she could work here, for its great cause. And being the filial daughter, she had followed his wishes. Remembered the coordinates, and appeared on their doorstep literally right when their last human manager left. Sana had immediately brought Jeongyeon to meet Nayeon, and the rest is history.

And about the beach? It’s true. Everything in this hotel has been designed to help humans fulfill their remaining wishes. To help them let go, before they leave. But it seems like it doesn’t work for everyone, because despite spending most of eternity here, the waves have only tamed her rage. Nayeon doesn’t know how much longer she needs to watch the tides recede and resurface, to eventually succumb to its hypnotic quality (if any). 

It’s sad. She wants to go, too. She’s tired of being angry. But it is a default that she cannot turn away from. The desire for revenge is still there every time she thinks about it. Like something left incomplete, under her skin. Especially now, since she no longer has a target to direct her hate at. Nayeon’s lips are itching to curse and swear and  _ destroy,  _ and instead she has to settle for keeping it under wraps. Or forgetting. Either way, it is a lonely journey she has to trudge along — 

She sneaks another look at Jeongyeon. Her lopsided smile of content, at doing nothing. Breathing in the salty air. At ease. Always, with whatever the world throws in her face. A stark contrast from the majority of the humans they’ve seen, who are always ready to fight their fate. It is encouraging. Softens the ridges around her chest, and makes the horizon look prettier, despite being dimmer. It just means that the sun is shining brighter. 

“It’s sad,” Nayeon muses, to no one in particular. Maybe to Jeongyeon, who turns to her with eyebrows pinched together.

“What is?”

“The sunset. It looks better now that you’re around.” The words fall off her tongue smoothly. fluidly. A sign of the truth, she guesses. Good things are always better appreciated with someone dear. Maybe it’s why the tides sound further away, now that Jeongyeon’s breaths are in questionable proximity. Maybe it’s a step closer to letting go.

Jeongyeon looks at her. Her eyes are always curious. Then heavy, when Nayeon stares a little longer. A consistency that reflects the other girl’s personality — too caring. But it makes Nayeon think, just for a moment, if they were to be in another universe: many, many movie dates. Sleepovers. Breakfast in bed, with lots of maple syrup. Watching Jeongyeon grow old — 

“I’m going to be here for a long time,” the other girl smiles. “You literally just said it. Why don’t you let yourself be happy?” Then there’s a small pause, where Jeongyeon’s mouth moves, as though going to say something else, but forgoes it for a small nod towards the view. It makes Nayeon’s skin prickle, only because it’s been happening more often; Jeongyeon is definitely hiding something. Her tells are startlingly obvious, but Nayeon doesn’t want to be the bad guy anymore. People are entitled to their own secrets.

Happy? Nayeon doesn’t know if someone like her deserves any more of that. But Jeongyeon holds her hand out, waiting, and of course she takes it. It lights a small fire in her hands, all the way to her chest, a warmth different from the anger that she sees even with her eyes closed —

She smiles back, teeth and all. Lets their joined hands rest in the space between, and tries not to familiarise herself with the mini fireworks going off in her chest. Tries not to remember that the last time this happened, everyone she loved had to pay for it.

With their lives.

  
  
  


/

  
  
  


“Green or black?” Nayeon frowns at her reflection. Holds each bag up, one at a time, against her side. The dark green is definitely more classy, but the black makes the gold logo on the flap stand out more, and who is she if she doesn’t go for the brand? 

“Neither.” Jeongyeon deadpans, from her seat a foot away. “They're both slightly less than seven inches long. Your purse doesn’t even fit in it.” Rolls her eyes for effect. Nayeon makes sure to look as offended as possible, with her eyes widened as much as she can, but it seems that the other girl has learned to disregard everything she does when it involves expanding her wardrobe. Or bag collection. 

Nayeon scoffs in disbelief. Waves the flustered sales assistant away, as she tries to piece together a coherent argument. Blinks two times, consecutively, for some semblance of sanity. “Excuse me? This is their latest release. They look good hanging from my shoulder, and is also small enough to add the final touches of elegance to my outfit today— “

“And?” Jeongyeon questions incredulously. “Your purse still won’t fit. Realistically, only your phone does, and if you’re lucky you can squeeze in a wad of notes. How is that practical?” 

Nayeon drops the two bags on the floor gently, before snapping back at Jeongyeon like she’d just told her the earth is flat. 

“Fashion is  _ never  _ about practicality. It’s all about the look!” She huffs. “Besides, I can always go cashless, you know. Who even carries cash these days? Aren’t you supposed to be trendier than me since you’re way younger?” Side-eyes Jeongyeon, in her grey suit jacket (surprise, surprise). “Okay. Forget I said that.” 

Jeongyeon stands up, locked and loaded. Ready to fire some kind of rebuttal Nayeon can see coming from a mile away, but there is a shrill scream coming from the outside of the boutique they’re in, and it steals their attention away like a clap of thunder. Her eyes dart to Jeongyeon’s briefly, and see the same confusion reflected— 

There is another scream. This one has a more desperate intensity that slices fear into her, and she whips her head around to the exit just in time to see someone run past. As though trying to escape.

Nayeon moves towards it. Her curiosity has been piqued, more from the need to know if there is anything threatening happening, and steps out onto the street quickly. Assesses the situation: a woman, lying helpless on the floor, a knife sticking out of her abdomen. Passersby, ranging from shocked-into-immobility to rushing-to-help (just the one guy, bless him). Nayeon taps his shoulder, as he tries to stop the bleeding with his hands.

“What happened?” 

“She got mugged.” He doesn’t spare her a glance. “Someone call the ambulance!” 

Mugging. Nayeon takes a step back. Possibly trading a life, for a few quick bucks along the way. Something she used to do for a living. But only to the rich, of course. Is it really considered stealing if it was done for survival, and if the stolen good was deemed as something the owner could live without?

But then she looks at the woman, and the red slowly seeping into the pavement. It tinges her vision. Some of the hatred she keeps under her skin has spiraled into some form of self-loathing upon years and years of reflection, and she feels it awaken with a jolt that pulls a righteousness reminding her of the morals she swore to live by. The same one that she stood by, and made her save Mina. Nayeon clenches her fists, and runs in the same direction as the mugger.

It's easy to sniff him out. She follows the guilt he leaves behind all the way to the overhead bridge, and waits. Ignores the footsteps behind her. His aura turns even darker, and Nayeon can only hope that Mean Jihyo will be nice. Forgiving, again. It was a miracle, really, that she had even agreed to let Mina stay. But she did it once — what’s to say she can’t do it again? 

“No.” There is a hand clamping down on her wrist. Jeongyeon is out of breath, hair mussed by the wind, but her eyes are resolute and firm and Nayeon grits her teeth. Of course Jeongyeon would follow her, with the hard truth a reminder of what she can and  _ cannot _ do— 

“No more. Mina was an exception.” The other girl loosens her grip. Shakes her head. “You know you can’t keep doing this, Nayeon. Don’t upset the balance.” 

Nayeon wants to punch a wall, because Jeongyeon is obviously right. It was risky with Mina, but Mean Jihyo had agreed only because she wants to see how things with Sana will turn out. The ill-fated lovers who never fail to appear in each other’s lives, but never once a happy ending — maybe there might be something in this guy’s life that she could appeal with— 

“Stop—”

“Do you really think he deserves it?” Nayeon asks. The man stands a distance away, on the bridge, looking down at his blood-stained hands. They’re shaking. “No one mugs for fun, Yoo Jeongyeon. They’re forced to do it. To survive.” Her voice is smaller now.

Jeongyeon goes quiet. The man drops the handbag. Climbs over the railings of the bridge, and jumps. The clouds around them darken rapidly, ominously, with the ground beneath them splitting ever so slightly to reveal a portal, and Nayeon fights the unpleasant shudder that ripples through her. Mean Jihyo steps out. 

This is the Jihyo that no one likes. Simply because she takes debt collecting way more seriously than anyone else, and polices the balance like her immortal life depends on it (maybe it does). If Nayeon weren’t so emotionally invested in this man, she would have said something about how ugly Mean Jihyo looks in her black robe, and made a run for it. But her lips are itching for an entirely different reason, and she opens her mouth to — 

Jeongyeon grabs her hand. Squeezes it tightly, and just like that — Nayeon loses all the fight in her. 

“Here to plead for mortals again, Im Nayeon?” Mean Jihyo raises an eyebrow. “It’s so unlike you.” Calls on the shadows a little more, and the sky almost turns black. ”It’s getting a little annoying.”

“Black looks horrible on you,” Nayeon ends up saying. It’s empty. Bows in a short greeting, before turning around and walking away, blocking out everything else. Holds onto Jeongyeon’s hand like it's some kind of anchor. It’s soft. Always soft. Thinks of Jeongyeon’s laughter, loud and unashamed. Enough to drown out the haunting sentence that Mean Jihyo issues to the man, for his crimes — 

_ He doesn’t deserve it _ , she knows. Justice is subjective. Only for the privileged. What about those who fight tooth and nail every damn day, just to get by? It’s not something she’s proud of, but she would do it again, if it meant that she could live. The self-loathing stirs up a hopeless vulnerability that makes her open her heart, and in a desperate bid to make herself feel better, she talks. 

“I used to be a thief,” Nayeon laughs. Again, it’s empty. Just to fill up the pockets of silence during the walk back to the hotel. “An orphan. I had no one but myself, so of course I learnt how to steal to keep myself alive. It was an art.”

Jeongyeon is still silent. Nayeon goes on. “When you get better at something, you start becoming greedy. I went from stealing food to stealing coins, and eventually, jewelry. Back then the palace was the richest place, and of all things I just had to set my sights on the Crown Princess’s jade pendant. The one she was always wearing.” She curves her fingers into a small circle. “It was about this big.” 

The memories are recalled with ease. “But word had gotten around of a jewelry thief, and there was a group of thieves who somehow caught wind of what I was planning. They knew it was suicide for a one-person job, and stopped me just in time.” Nayeon smiles. “They eventually adopted me, and I found a family.”

The next part is heavy. The words stay locked inside her mouth, and refuse to come out. The autumn leaves crunch under her soles, and Nayeon struggles to find the strength to say them, because they are still deeply laced in regret, but Jeongyeon suddenly stops walking. Stands in the middle of the road, and worries her lips with her teeth.

“You did well,” the other girl says. Folds her hands together in nervousness, but locks them in something Nayeon thinks might be determination of some sort. Or strength. Looks at her hesitantly, and Nayeon is snapped out of her thoughts. “I’m sure they would have been proud.” 

Proud. Would they be, when she can barely remember their names now? When she had just failed to save a fellow thief? Or would they be proud that she is no longer one of them, trying to live by the right way? Jeongyeon’s words release the guilt Nayeon has unknowingly stacked on top of her own shoulders, and she feels the dam in her chest cracking— 

She grabs Jeongyeon. Pulls the other girl into a hug just in time so that her ugly sobs won’t be seen. Buries her face into Jeongyeon’s shoulder, right in front of the ugly polka-dotted pocket square that she had always frowned upon, and cries. There is a hand steady at her back, slow, warm strokes pacing her thoughts. Tender fingers tangling softly in the curls of her hair, pushing a gradual stopping of her tears, and in its place: a low ember that burns virtuously. 

“Thank you,” she manages to choke out. Because doing the right thing isn’t always easy, when your morals have always been skewed, but Nayeon will obey; this is the one thing she can do to pay for her sins.

And she will.

  
  
  


/

  
  
  


(Later, Nayeon would realise that up till then, she’d never told Jeongyeon about whatever happened to her family, and would put the matter to rest just by chalking it up to the other girl’s good inferential skills.)

  
  
  


/

  
  
  


Some more time passes. Nayeon doesn’t exactly keep track of it, because she’s decided to continue living as happily as she can and ignore everything else (read: ‘leave it to fate’, as per Jeongyeon’s wise words — it’s not like she isn’t already doing that). But Nice Jihyo shows up again today, in her usual white floral dress, in the garden, and Nayeon welcomes her.

“You met my sister?” Nice Jihyo never bothers with pleasantries. Nayeon appreciates it. Smiles up at her latest company, and pats the ground. Ever since the tree bloomed, the grass beneath it has become ten times softer, and makes for a good sitting mat.

“Yeah,” Nayeon scowls. “She’s still a bitch.” Picks at her nails. There is no malice in her words, because she knows they’re just doing their jobs, but the Goddess laughs anyway, and Nayeon finds herself smiling. “You’re still my favourite.”

Nice Jihyo grins. It is a breezy afternoon. Relatively quiet for a hotel that is usually brimming with guests, and they fall into a cozy silence. This is how she knows that Jihyo isn’t on official business — if she were, there would be more cringeworthy advice given shortly upon arrival, and she would leave immediately after: Nice Jihyo on business never takes more than ten minutes to deliver her message. 

Nayeon stares at the flowers. They’re larger, now. Even brighter than before, and as beautiful as they are, they’ve become somewhat of an eyesore. An annoying symbol of the unseen future. Ugh. But they are still flowers, and Nayeon isn’t small-minded enough to not know how to appreciate them. 

Then a small breeze sweeps past them. It caresses the ends of her hair, slightly, and she sees it: the wobble of a petal. It loosens. Still shines under the golden rays of the sun, and falls, slowly, surely, onto the ground. A slow-motion descent that is strangely alluring in all the ways she would have never paid attention to before. 

“Oh,” Nice Jihyo says. Flicks her finger, and the petal lands right in the center of her palm. Examines it closely. “Do you remember what I said? About being brave?” 

Nayeon raises an eyebrow. So much for Nice Jihyo not being on official business. “Unfortunately, yes.” Sighs loudly. “How could I not?”

“I believe in you.” Nice Jihyo chuckles. Raises her eyebrows teasingly. Blows the petal in her face before doubling over in laughter, and Nayeon can only jerk her head back to avoid it.

“Can you not be so cryptic all the time?” She grumbles. Fans the air around her for good measure, because as pretty as the petals are, Nayeon has no desire to subject herself to possible poisoning. 

There is a shoulder bump. ”It’s my job,” the Goddess smiles, and Nayeon holds her gaze long enough to see it deepen. The glimmer of the joke fades quickly, before revealing something mildly pointed. Something hard.

Oh.

“Will I meet her soon?” Nayeon asks. Watches Nice Jihyo carefully. As much as she hates her obligation to follow the rules (namely: not spitting out the truth point-blank), Nayeon would like to consider them friends. Of sorts. And if it weren’t for Nice Jihyo, Nayeon would probably be suffering something way worse than manning a hotel for ghosts. 

TL;DR: Nice Jihyo has a soft spot for Nayeon, and Nayeon is always ready to exploit it. As neutrally as possible, of course — not wanting to risk offsetting whatever debts she has previously cleared.

“Are you not answering me?” She pouts. “Come on. Give me something to work with, at least.” Folds her arms. Puts on her best kicked puppy expression, and waits.

Nothing changes.

“I’m going to take your silence as a yes, then.” Nayeon huffs. Closes her eyes in extreme pettiness, and flops on the grass. “Go away.” 

The floral fragrance in the air thickens. Calms her irritation just so. Envelops her in a small cocoon of serenity, coupled with the warmth she feels creeping into her side. Nayeon tries her best to maintain a poker face — Nice Jihyo isn’t called Nice for nothing. 

There are fingers on her hand, fluttering in the wind that suddenly picks up. A thumb, on the back of her fingers, over her knuckles. 

Then: a finger on her palm, tracing out a word —

_ Yes  _

Nayeon opens her eyes. The wind stops. The air is bland, and Nice Jihyo is no longer there. She stares up at the purple flowers, and lets herself relish in the small victory of getting something out of Jihyo, and then snorts softly after realising the added burden of knowing, on her shoulders.

Well. Soon.

  
  
  


/

  
  
  


Today’s send-offs are relatively quick. Nayeon does her rounds (read: watching Jeongyeon, or following Jeongyeon around, or both). Jeongyeon handles the check-outs with ease, making sure their guests have ticked everything off their bucket lists, and are ready to leave. Arranges for the journey to the afterlife, and proceeds to walk them to the platform.

It is eerie. A brilliant adaptation of something mystical, in Nayeon’s opinion, with the forest vibes giving her the chills, and the misty fog blocking whatever visibility they have of the tunnel. Nayeon hates it. Avoids it like the plague. Sure, she had to do send-offs in the beginning when it was just her alone. But when the need arose for a human manager, it was naturally delegated, along with everything else — having to watch guests walk through the tunnel after saying their goodbyes meant having to also deal with some overly clingy, over-the-top grateful ghosts who wouldn’t stop sobbing at the thought of leaving this life completely (who, eventually u-turned until they found their peace with moving on). She doesn’t want to overrun her mind with the jealousy that they get to leave, and that she cannot.

“This is it, Miss Mong,” Jeongyeon bows. “I hope you enjoyed your stay. We wish you the best.” Gestures to the tunnel. “All you have to do is keep walking.” 

The ghost beams in gratitude. Returns the bow. Gives one to Nayeon, too, before turning towards the mist, and walks into it with no hesitation. The easy kind of send-off. When her silhouette disappears completely, the sigh that Jeongyeon lets out makes Nayeon raise an eyebrow.

“Tired?” 

Jeongyeon shakes her head. “Just wondering if it’s really a good thing. Leaving things behind.” 

The fog in the tunnel makes it look wider than it actually is. It’s probably a long journey, given how they can never see its end, and not for the first time, Nayeon wonders how it would feel like: leaving behind her thousand-year-old memories with every step she took.

“Why not?” She turns to face Jeongyeon. Sees the start of a storm brewing in her eyes. “It's all for a fresh start. New beginnings, and endings.”

“What if they don’t want to?” The other girl reasons. “What if I have memories I want to keep forever? What if I want to stay beside the people I love, for forever and more?” Her voice is getting louder. “What if —” 

Nayeon slips her hand into Jeongyeon’s. Watches the thunder flash across her face, and the winds calm, quickly, when Jeongyeon sighs. 

“That is the balance we adhere to,” Nayeon puts as much understanding into her words as she can manage, without sounding sad. Blinks twice, to rid of any unnecessary emotions. They are of no help. “Think of it as a chance for a do-over. It makes things better.”

The fog glistens. The silence is sombre, and Jeongyeon laces their fingers together. Acceptance goes a long way, even though they’re faced with it almost every day, and it in no way solidifies a belief that was supposedly set in stone. 

“Do you think so?” Jeongyeon asks. “Will you be happy when you leave?” It is a gentle curiosity that makes Nayeon want to wrap the other girl in a blanket and keep her protected in her room forever, because Jeongyeon is probably the kindest and softest person she has ever met and the world is always too harsh. 

“I can’t stay here forever,” Nayeon side-steps it easily. “But as much as I hate how things are, they’re there for a reason, no?” She takes a deep breath. “I suppose leaving behind my horrid past would be something to look forward to.” 

The silence stretches on. Jeongyeon’s eyes cloud over. The line of her mouth hardens, and Nayeon finds it difficult to breathe, even though she doesn’t need to. She swallows. Keeps her face neutral. It’s there again: Jeongyeon’s tell. That there is something she isn’t saying, and Nayeon wonders how long the other girl can keep it to herself for. 

“Is there no one worth staying behind for?” Jeongyeon looks into the mist. “No memory you would want to keep forever?” Nayeon sees the way the other girl bites her lip, and feels her own gut tearing itself apart. Breathes in deeply, again. Lets the cool forest air anchor her to reality, despite how artificial it smells.

The mist stings her eyes. Or so she thinks, because she might have been staring at it too intensely. Memories? Nayeon thinks of Jeongyeon: their first meeting, and how ridiculous the entire situation had looked; Jeongyeon, threatening to throw out her entire wardrobe just because she wouldn’t yield to not buying some streetwear collection; Jeongyeon and her, at the beach, looking over the horizon. She blinks it away twice.

Then there’s Sana and Momo. The friends she made along the way. The friends she will always be thankful for, and sorry to, because they’ve all ended up in this predicament of sorts because of her. The endless nights of talking about everything and nothing under the watchful gaze of the moon — the brightest parts of the arduous journey she set out to complete, the best parts of this life she wants to keep, forever, in the deepest corners of her chest. 

The thought of forgetting cuts into her deep and slow and easy, for the first time. Saws through the years of joy and sorrow with no hesitation, and the pain clogs her lungs. Seeps in slowly, with the realisation that she actually has something to live for, now, and briefly entertains the idea of sinking her nails into whatever reality this is, for good. She grits her teeth. Wills the blade out, and forces herself to not think about it now. Not when Jeongyeon is here.

“Don’t cry when you send me off, Yoo Jeongyeon.” Nayeon hits her shoulder lightly. Slaps on a band-aid quickly, before Jeongyeon can see the ugliness of it all. Tries to joke her way out of this, because humour is an all-purpose solution to everything. “I don’t want your ugly snotty face to be the last thing I see in this life.” 

It works. The corners of Jeongyeon’s mouth lift, and her eyes are clearer than they were before. Maybe with a little more resolution. The band-aid sticks on better than she thought it would, and it doesn’t hurt as badly as it did just a second ago.

“I won’t.” The words are firm, echoed loudly in the silence that settles between them. Nayeon takes her word for it, and clings onto it like it’s the last thing she has to believe in.

  
  
  


/

It unravels, as quickly and unexpectedly as most things do. Or, turn out to be. Nayeon only wishes she had more time to polish up her new favourite memories before the truth bomb had been dropped on her unceremoniously. 

“Did you find it?” Nayeon lifts up a stack of clothes. Pushes it to the side of the desk. Some of it falls to the ground, but she barely pays it any attention — the only thing that matters right now is finding her other Dior earring, because wearing mismatched earrings is  _ not  _ an option: it’s like making them cheat on each other, and it will not happen under her watch. 

“No,” Jeongyeon shuffles through her drawers. If it were any other day, she would have yelled about a breach of privacy, but Nayeon thinks she has it in herself to overlook that because. Earrings. Besides, Jeongyeon is the most organised person she knows — maybe she can put aside her hatred for other people going through her stuff some more and have Jeongyeon tidy up all her things. 

She bends down. Peers into the gap between the bottom of the wardrobe and the floor, and tries to sweep her arm blindly — 

“Um,” the other girl calls. “Is this the jade pendant you talked about?” 

Nayeon’s hand stills. She stands up. Brushes out the creases in her pants, and turns around — of course. Of all her prized possessions, the thing that would catch Jeongyeon’s eye just had to be the one she’d lost everything for. It’s old, but its light green exterior still twinkles, although not as magnificently as it once did.

She walks towards Jeongyeon. Takes the pendant from between the other girl’s fingers, and thumbs over it slowly. It is still smooth, and cool to the touch, like she remembers — 

She remembers. Closes her eyes. Sees the images play out in front of her on the back of her eyelids: the jade pendant, on the neck of a girl. The Crown Princess. How it emphasises the paleness of her skin, and then fingers reaching out, curling around it.

Another memory: The jade pendant, again, being pushed into her hand hurriedly. It’s slimy. Her palm is open, and her fingers are covered in blood— 

“Yeah,” Nayeon opens her eyes. Looks at the pendant for what it is: slightly duller, with a brownish undertone. The bloodstains. “How did you know?”

Jeongyeon wrings her hands together. Gnaws on her bottom lip like there’s no tomorrow. “Um.” She starts. Hesitant. Nayeon looks at her expectantly. Curious, because there is no way Jeongyeon would have known how to distinguish it from her other jade pieces — the opened drawer lies forgotten. Something under her ribs shifts uncomfortably, and Nayeon wonders if this is it.

“I saw it in a dream.”

Dream? She feels her lips tighten. The D word. The way Jeongyeon refuses to look at her tells her that there’s more, and Nayeon tries to make it easier. “Dream? You’re dreaming of my things now?” She laughs. “That’s like, a major occupational hazard or something.”

“I’ve been dreaming of you, Nayeon.” Jeongyeon finds courage, somehow, clear eyes holding Nayeon hostage for once. Her words are rounded and fall out of Nayeon’s ears easily. “I see you, but it’s like an older version. Not that you look any different. Just, the clothes?” She continues. “I think they’re memories. Your past memories.”

Her past memories? Showing up in Jeongyeon’s dreams? Nayeon feels herself going rigid. She might actually vomit. “What did you see?” 

The other girl smiles fondly, lost in her recounting. “You were standing under a tree, smiling. Laughing, without a care in the world. I think there was someone else, too.” Jeongyeon grows braver. “You said you were going to make it all end, and then you would run away.”

The thing lying beneath her ribs swells unpleasantly. The anger she keeps under her skin awakens, as though sensing something. A final target. It has to be. “Anything else?” She tries, tries her best to keep her words even.

Jeongyeon finally notices. Spots a frown, but carries on anyway. “The pendant.” She points to the one in Nayeon’s hand. “You were standing by a lake, waiting for someone. There was a girl, and she gave it to you. I think she was the Crown Princess.” 

The anger flares up a notch higher. 

“I don’t know what the dreams are supposed to mean,” Jeongyeon finishes, stuffing her hands in her pockets. Searches Nayeon’s eyes with hers, and Nayeon sees, aside from her own waxy reflection, the uncertainty in them. “Is something wrong?” 

She snorts. Every instinct in her body tingles. She  _ knows  _ she’s right. 

“Fuck Jihyo.” Nayeon spits. “Fuck the fates. Fuck everything!” She screams. Throws the jade pendant at the wall. It doesn’t crack, but the resounding thud sends a jolt through her body, and Nayeon is blinded by a wave of white hot pain that makes her knees buckle — 

The memories are back. Clearer, this time. The same one, showing the jade pendant on the Crown Princess’s neck. But now it’s zoomed out, and she sees her face: the soft curve of her jaw. Thin lips, that part with a lopsided smile, and eyes that remind her of home —

“Are you okay?” Jeongyeon catches her immediately, warm palm to her cheek. Pats it repeatedly, worry written in her every cell. The pain leaves, as quickly as it comes, and Nayeon opens her eyes only to find herself staring at the girl in her memories. 

The truth bomb explodes, and taints her memories with murky hate that disgusts her to her very core. She doesn’t know if it can be washed away.

The anger erupts. Bursts out of her poorly insulated skin in overflowing lava, and translates itself into the fire raging in her eyes. It burns in her veins as she flexes her fingers. Does the one thing she has been waiting for: she calls for her sword.

It comes, trusty as ever, despite not being called for many, many years. Fits in her hand like it was made to, with impeccable balance, glinting just like the moonlight, and she wastes no time in pressing it against Jeongyeon’s neck. 

“Don’t. Touch. Me.” She seethes. Breathes heavily. Finally. A thousand years, just to meet the Crown Princess. Again. The thought of revenge gives her a blood rush that fills her to the brim, and she thinks about how quickly it can all end. Pushing the sword through, and watching life seep out. 

“N-Nayeon,” Jeongyeon stutters out, with whatever bandwidth she has from the blade dangerously close to her throat. Drops her hand from Nayeon’s cheek, and waist. The fear in her eyes swirls. “What —”

“You,” Nayeon snarls. Tightens her grip on her sword. “How could you?” Lets the pent up anguish seep into her voice. Feels her vision blur. “How could you  _ betray  _ me like that?” The memories come back in full force, and loop in her mind. Her chest rips open, and the hurt claws out of it, nails dragging across her ribs. Turns into the blackened revenge she has thought about, and she feels the need for payback. To destroy. To kill. 

Then the fear in Jeongyeon’s eyes gives way to something light. Something like understanding. Amidst the red, Nayeon feels it: a hand closing around her shoulder. Desperate, but gentle, despite the hostility.

“I’m not her anymore,” the other girl breathes out shakily into the space between them. Pleads with Nayeon. Convinces Nayeon. “This is a different life, Nayeon.”

Different life? Nayeon wavers. But still: the soul is the same. Reincarnation only means the washing away of memories and identity. It's the closest thing she can get to meeting the Crown Princess again, to give her a piece of her own mind. To slap her with a thousand years’ worth of misery, and payback, for betraying her trust.

She blinks, again. Two times, for clarity. Realises what she’s doing — taking it out on someone who has no idea what she did in her previous life. Feels the flames of rage flicker; this is Jeongyeon. Jeongyeon, her hotel manager. Jeongyeon, who always puts her best into everything she does. Even into her relationship with Nayeon. The bits of rationality that return freeze the overflowed lava. They caress the smoking remains, and reduce everything else to a medium boil.

She lets go. Steps back. Sees the immediate relief that washes over Jeongyeon, and feels the shame creep up on her. Doesn’t think about how she had almost killed the other girl. It turns into a newfound tenfold anger that she might have considered keeping down so that she could maybe, apologise — 

Her sword is still in her hand. She looks at it. Reroutes her thoughts to Jihyo, because Nayeon finally has some clarity, and she really, really needs to get some of her anger off her chest for good. This is the biggest joke that anyone has ever played on her, and she  _ will  _ get some blood for it. 

“I’m sorry,” Nayeon apologises anyway. Her eyes are wet. She looks away. Conveniently misses the hurt that flashes across Jeongyeon’s face. Turns around, and leaves without another word, before she can afford to lose any more of her dignity.

Her footsteps are heavy.

  
  


/

  
  
  


The rest of her memories rush back, with every step she takes. They flood her mind, and drown her in painful nostalgia. There is hurt. There is regret.

(“They’re staging an attack tomorrow,” Nayeon says. Smiles. “I’ll come get you, so don’t worry.” Tightens the ribbon in her hair. “Then we’ll live happily ever after.”

The other girl smiles. She isn’t in her royal robes today. Sneaking out of the palace has gotten really easy: the guards are growing complacent because of the lowered criminal activity, and their love for gold transcends their loyalty to the emperor. 

“Happily ever after.” She echoes. Feels the words shape themselves into fireflies soaring into the night sky. It is beautiful and serene, and mayhaps too good a foreshadowing for something else: the neon lights of their future will surely be as bright in the darkness. She reaches for Nayeon’s hand, and grasps it. Brings it to her lips, and presses a kiss there for good luck.

“Dawn.” She nods. Unclasps her necklace, and presses the jade pendant into Nayeon’s palm. “I’ll be waiting.” Wraps Nayeon in a hug. Cradles the back of her head.

It burns.)

The garden comes into view. Nayeon marches in, wiping away the leftover tears that had spilled on her way here. Nice Jihyo is already there, of course— Nayeon  _ knows  _ she already knows. Doesn't let herself think anymore, and gives in to the wildfire in her gut.

She jumps. Charges at Nice Jihyo, who sidesteps it lightly. Calmly. Nayeon  _ hates  _ how Jihyo is still barely batting an eyelash. 

“Really?” she snarls. Swings her sword. Aims for Nice Jihyo’s chest. Arm. Anywhere, just for a little blood. Because someone else  _ has  _ to pay, other than her. “You knew? All this time?”

The Goddess brandishes her own staff, from the moonlight. The fire that races across the length of it blocks all her attacks easily. Passively. It only makes Nayeon angrier, because of course Jihyo’s more powerful. She has the backing of the Deities, and a seemingly infinite source of power. It’s unfair, like everything else happening to her — 

Then another wave of a memory washes over her, droplets of the past glistening with something missing. Nayeon finds pieces of it coming together slowly:

(The backyard is empty. Nayeon sheathes her sword. Waits for the majority of the guards to leave the Crown Princess’s quarters as the war horn sounds, loud and menacing. The footsteps are rushed, and Nayeon grips the jade pendant in her pocket tightly. For good luck.

It becomes quieter. She counts to five. Turns the corner, and climbs over the wall easily. Lands softly, on her toes — 

She looks up. There are spears pointed at her. Surrounding her. Twenty, or thirty, at a glance. What the hell? Nayeon freezes. Holds up her hands in surrender, because there is no point fighting a losing battle. How did they know?

Her blood runs cold. She thinks of the others, at the front gate. Hopes she’ll make it out alive to see them again — 

Then the guards part like a storm, and instead of a rainbow, Nayeon finds herself face to face with her worst nightmare. 

“She’s one of them,” the Crown Princess says, without an ounce of emotion. Her poker face renders Nayeon speechless. “A traitor. Take her to the dungeons.”

They are ruthless. Not even a second in, and Nayeon is already on the ground, with a mouthful of gravel. It cannot be. The guards tie her wrists together, and strip her of her sword, and the shock is too much to bear.

It gets processed into anger. Nayeon puts up a struggle. Fights against the restraints, but the strength of twenty men cannot be compared to the adrenaline in her blood, and it barely gets her anywhere.

She feels herself being hoisted up. Sees the Crown Princess standing at the other end, unmoving. Her eyes are stone, with no remorse, and this is where Nayeon realises that she had probably sold them out.

“Jeongyeon.” She grits out. Hardens her own eyes, to mask the pain of the betrayal. “Just you wait. I’ll kill you.” 

Then she feels a blow to the back of her head, and everything goes black.)

“Jeongyeon?” Nayeon snorts, regaining her balance after a particularly hard blow, finding new meaning in her anger. “You had her name remain  _ exactly  _ the same, and still I didn’t know.”

Nice Jihyo takes a step back. “I couldn’t tell you. You had to find out, Nayeon.” She kills the ember on her staff. “You know how it is.” Drops her defensive stance.

She does. Jihyo is not wrong. Jihyo is never wrong.

“You,” Nayeon is suddenly tired of yelling. “Made the person I hated the most, come back as the person I...fell for.” Her hands are shaking. She swallows. The lump in her throat doesn’t go down. It is a step closer to defeat.

Her sword clatters to the ground, forgotten. “Why?” She barely recognises her own voice.

“I’m sorry it has to happen this way.” Nice Jihyo is sympathetic. It makes Nayeon sick. But there is nothing else she can do, other than suck it up and deal with it the big girl way: complete acceptance. It goes a long way, she knows: the only road ahead.

The tree calls to her. Nayeon spares it a glance, amidst her shattered reality, and notices it for the first time today: it looks the same, not a petal out of place. Of course it would be able to withstand the aftermath of her and Jihyo’s fight — 

She feels it, then: whispers of respite. A warmth that tingles in her ear. Lights a small trail to her chest, and eases the coldness in her chest. Cradles it against the certainty of comfort, as though it’s the only thing that would tell her she did well. 

_ You did well,  _ Jeongyeon’s voice surfaces from the ruins of her sanity. A bright, neon thing that Nayeon follows, with her heart, all the way to the bark of the tree. It is still shiny, tough, and alive in all the ways that it should never have been. Just like she is.

She closes her eyes. Throws in the towel. Gives in. The tears come, hot and stinging, with all the hatred and hopelessness accumulated over the centuries. Burns the last of her past into dusty ashes. They are dark and bitter when they fall on her tongue. She lets go, completely, of all of the emotional baggage, for the first time, and cries one last time for all the things she knows she could have done differently.

Her fortress shatters. The jagged pieces are useless armour that she ends up stepping on, that can never match up to fate. The pain barely registers, because it doesn't compare to that of going back to square one, right where this all started — her identity. At the end of it all, she is still Im Nayeon; orphaned at birth, murderer of the Crown Princess at age twenty-three, and killer of many, many others. Weak, helpless, and subjected to the weight of her sins.

The branches of the tree sway in rhythm to her sobs. A purple blossom falls. Then another, and another, and it slowly starts to rain petals.

The floral fragrance makes it a little better. 

Nice Jihyo doesn’t say anything. Watches the gradual descent of the flowers. Flicks her fingers— there is a bottle of champagne now in her hand. She leaves it on the ground, gently, near Nayeon, before turning around and leaving.

The hard part is over.

  
  
  


/

  
  
  


The lobby is quiet today. Just like it was yesterday, and the day before — there are fewer guests coming in, and more leaving each day. It’s clear that her time is running out. Everyone’s time is. 

“Jeongyeon’s looking for you,” Momo slides into the space beside her. The plush leather couch is for three, and Nayeon feels the briefest spark of irritation at the other girl’s proximity; Momo’s obvious disregard of personal space is only endearing when she’s in a good mood. 

It disappears, as soon as the other girl cuddles up to her. Because Nayeon is as much of a skinship advocate as Momo is, but she will never admit it. She doesn’t need to, because she knows that Momo already knows, and this is her way of trying to make her feel better.

“Don’t remind me,” she grunts. Crosses her legs. Running away will not solve anything, but denial has always been her best friend — it makes the near future not look so daunting, and is probably the best mechanism for coping without actually coping. She deflects it naturally. “Where’s Sana?” 

Momo sighs. Shakes her head. Nayeon feels the air around them get heavier. “Brooding. Like you. I think she finally told Mina that she’s leaving soon.” Pauses. “That we all are.”

The red strings of destiny are sickeningly twisted, for the unlucky ones like Sana and Mina — always fated to meet in every lifetime, then torn apart too quickly before they could even establish anything concrete. Tzuyu’s condition has seen yet another rapid decline, and Sana has told Mina that she will leave when Tzuyu shows up, finally, as a guest — Nayeon can only imagine how Mina’s world will be emptied.

“Did she take it well?” 

Momo doesn’t answer. Nayeon hears it anyway. Thinks she shouldn’t even have bothered asking, because they all know how this story ends. At least Nice Jihyo was forthcoming for once, although it was her job to let them meet again this time. Either way, Nayeon knows that Sana wouldn’t have it done differently — the bond of soulmates tied together makes everything else pale in comparison, and thickens only with time that passes after both parties meet: every emotion is amplified, every thought understood effortlessly. Although fleeting, it is also extremely precious, and anything would be worth it. 

Even a broken heart. Or a constantly missing piece of it, that she has to search for in every lifetime, from scratch. To feel complete. To be at peace. 

“Time is running out,” Momo mumbles. Verbalises the one thing they tiptoe around. “Talk to Jeongyeon. You have more time than Sana does.” 

She grabs Momo’s hand. “And you? Are you ready to leave?” 

“Yes.” 

It catches Nayeon off guard. Makes her move her neck away a little just to look at Momo. “Even if it means you have to let go?” 

Momo smiles. It is small, but full of confidence. Confidence that was nowhere to be seen a hundred years ago. A hundred years, barely holding a torch against Nayeon’s thousand-year sentence, suddenly feels like a long time ago.

“Look at you, Hirai Momo,” she teases. “All grown up now. Whatever happened to the scared little girl back then?”

“Thank you.” Momo is suddenly serious. “I realised I never really thanked you for saving me that day.” She pushes her bangs out of her eyes. Her eyes swim with genuine sincerity, and it takes Nayeon back to that fateful day by the river. Remembers a helpless girl, about to be sentenced by Mean Jihyo, for taking her own life. Remembers the impulsiveness that drove her to step in, and somehow negotiate a deal with Mean Jihyo, for Momo to stay as an employee to help out. 

(Just like she would have done for Mina, if it had been too late.)

Because it’s all about understanding the reasons behind. Every action stems from one, be it rational or not, and it’s selfish to only look at things from one perspective.

So why can’t she seem to understand the rationale behind Jeongyeon’s betrayal back then? A thousand years, looking back at every single interaction, every step they made, and  _ still  _ she could not see where she went wrong — 

“Here I am, thanking you, and you’re not even listening to me,” Momo pouts. Huffs indignantly, but there is no fire behind it, and Nayeon is quick to pacify. Pulls the other girl into a hug. 

“I don’t regret it,” she says into Momo’s hair. “I’m thankful for you, too. Everything you do. You’re so brave.” Musses it up slightly, in adoration. “How do I be like you?” 

“I learnt from the best,” Momo preens, then pushes Nayeon away to bat her eyelashes at her. “A warrior at heart. Someone who never backs down from a challenge.” She wags her eyebrows playfully, and the heaviness fizzles out. The atmosphere becomes lighter. Easier. “I believe she’ll be even braver than me.” 

Nayeon rolls her eyes endearingly. It is corny as hell. None of them actively push the cringey-emotional-talk agenda, but when it comes, it is hard and always manages to leave a long lasting impact. But it never stretches on for more than necessary, because she already knows what she has to do, and with Momo’s hand on hers giving her the strength she needs, Nayeon thinks she’ll stop running away.

Ugh. Maybe it’s time to hear Jeongyeon out. If she even remembers, that is.

  
  
  


/

  
  
  


“We have an emergency.” 

Sana waltzes into her room, with more grace than expected of anyone who is calling for said emergency. She doesn’t look the least bit panicky, and Nayeon has half a mind to return to her mindless online shopping. Maybe she could do with another pair of Ray-Bans, since they happened to be on a ninety-percent discount? 

“There’s a human roaming freely in this hotel,” Sana deadpans, gloved hands stashed in her pockets. As though waiting for a reaction of some sort, from Nayeon. “A. human.” 

“Yes?” She’s two parts confused, and one part amused. If this was Sana’s way of staging an intervention, after Momo’s pep talk, then it would be largely redundant because she’s already promised to do it tomorrow. “If I recall, you were the one who brought Jeongyeon to me —”

“— Not Jeongyeon.” Sana cuts in. “A child.” 

Nayeon puts down her phone. It takes her two entire seconds to realise that Sana isn’t joking, and in fact, is really, really serious. She frowns. “What happened?” 

The other girl shrugs.”I have no idea. I saw him walk in all on his own and talked to him for a bit. He said his mother came to him in a dream and told him she was doing well here.” 

Ew. The stupid dream phone calls. She feels the early onset of a headache. If not for Jeongyeon’s insistence for them to  _ do the same for the others just like my father with me _ , they would have gotten rid of it long ago — so much for trying to provide a higher grade service. 

“We are  _ so _ getting rid of the dream phone calls,” Nayeon hisses. Then snaps to alert. “Where did you last see him?” 

“The lobby.” Sana grabs Nayeon’s hand. Yanks her out of the room as they break into a slow run. “I left him to get Momo, and when I came back he was gone.” Her tone increases in pitch. Nayeon would have laughed at how ridiculous the other girl sounds, but the panic that set in Sana is contagious, and Nayeon feels her own thoughts short-circuiting straight to the platform.

She stops. Sana steps on her foot, and almost trips.

“Shit, Sana.” Nayeon stares. “What if he finds his way to the platform?” 

Sana’s jaw drops. Sees the same fear reflected in her face, and Nayeon, again, wants to vomit. Swallows the icky feeling at the back of her throat, and snaps to attention. To work mode. 

“Search the lobby. The beach, the bar, the roof. Get Momo. Get everyone involved. We need as many of us on this as we can.” She thinks. “Where’s Jeongyeon?” 

There’s a pause that comes with the dramatic timing of it all: if Sana could pale, Nayeon knows she would have. Because the rapid footsteps coming from the other end of the hallway sound painfully familiar — those she has painstakingly avoided — and it is another three seconds before she realises that they are, nearing the same walkway that leads to the platform.

She whirls around. Sees the briefest flash of a boring grey suit jacket flapping in the wind, before the person disappears through the platform opening.

“Go,” Sana pushes her. “I’ll handle the rest.” 

Nayeon nods. Wastes no time in giving chase. Her heels clack loudly against the polished tiles, but she only hears her own mantra of  _ no  _ and  _ please don’t  _ — 

The platform is empty. The mist is as thick as she last remembers it, and in front of it is unmistakably Yoo Jeongyeon, in all her boring three-piece suit glory. Nayeon opens her mouth to yell. Probably something along the lines of Jeongyeon’s supposed stupidity, because did the other girl seriously think she could run into the tunnel to search for the boy — 

Jeongyeon does exactly that. Dives headfirst into the mist. Nayeon stares in shock, for the second time that day, as the silhouette of the other girl disappears into the wispy tendrils filling the tunnel.

Holy shit. “Jeongyeon!” She rushes forward, right before the entrance. Too little too late. Squints into the mist. Tries to spot any sign of movement, or any sign of Jeongyeon’s shoulder-length bob in contrast to the white fog, and feels her eyes water. She blinks it away immediately.

This is it. Something she’d never even thought of, until twenty seconds ago, coming to life with a terrifying accuracy. The ice that suddenly settles along her spine makes her thoughts freeze, and she feels the icky thing at the back of her throat again. Is this how her story is supposed to be? With her, the protagonist, not being able to see her own redemption arc to the end? 

Nayeon takes a step. She’s almost touching the mist, now. Stretches out her hand experimentally, and retracts it almost immediately — as though it was burnt — 

But it isn't. She examines her hand. It looks perfectly fine. Until her vision starts to swirl, and everything looks still. She shakes her head. Frowns. Doesn’t remember what she was trying to do. There was her trying to test out the myth, and then...nothing. Tries to recall the last few seconds of her memory, of her touching the mist — 

Her mind comes up empty. So it  _ is  _ true. And therefore, there is no way that Nayeon can run through the mist without losing any part of herself, or the hotel, before she wraps up her chapter on this earth. How nice.

But the urge to run in is there. Tickles her thoughts. No one is here to stop her, and if Jeongyeon can be selfless — 

Jeongyeon is selfless. Running after her would be selfish, and how could she do that to the girl who had just put her life on the line, for a human boy neither of them knows? The shame wakes her up, and Nayeon realises how helpless she actually is, in this entire situation: that the only thing she can do is to wait. Wait, and hope that Jeongyeon makes it out. Alive. 

The fear is back. Eats into her purpose. Just when she thought she was done dealing with the worst of it all, like having the one person she hated the most reincarnate as the person she now cares so much about — Nayeon thinks that no longer holds a torch to the absolute trepidation that settles at the bottom of her stomach, at the thought of losing Jeongyeon.

“No, please,” she mutters. The mantra stays in her head on a seemingly permanent loop, and desperation keeps her rooted to the ground. Her chest is heavy with the burden of all the things she should have said. So that at the very least, Jeongyeon would know that none of this is her fault, and — 

What if Jeongyeon left, thinking Nayeon hated her?

She forces her eyes open a little wider. Looks back into the mist with newfound determination. Ignores the prick in her eyes as a result of it. Holds her ground. Doesn’t look away, because this is the barest minimum — 

The mist twinkles. It forces Nayeon to blink. And then twice, out of habit. Then she sees it: a shadow. It moves closer to her with every step, and it is painfully familiar. Her chest is instantly filled up with hope, but she fights to crush it— the light is a dangerous bait that attracts the worst of their unrealised dreams, and to fall for it would be to be privy to pointless self-depreciation.

She takes a step back. Watches with bated breath as the silhouette emerges from the mist entirely — 

It  _ is  _ Jeongyeon. Nayeon recognises the impeccably polished shoe first. Then the grey tailored pants, the matching suit, and the other girl’s face — 

It is stoic. Something ripples across it. Maybe it’s the mist talking, or some weird side effect. But Jeongyeon is back, in one piece, standing in front of her, and Nayeon rushes forward immediately. Grabs onto the lapels of the suit jacket, and tugs Jeongyeon into a hug. Presses her nose into the crook of the other girl’s neck, and breathes in the earthy tones of a uniquely human scent. Feels the solid flesh that is Jeongyeon, and exhales.

The pressure on her mind releases, like a long awaited snap. This isn’t the end. Everything is fine. The fear is washed away by the need to make things right, but for now she swears to never do anything rash, again, and promises to keep Jeongyeon safe right where she is, in her arms — 

Jeongyeon returns the hug, slowly. There is an arm that loops diagonally across her back, and where it would usually stop at her shoulder, today, Nayeon feels a hand cupping the back of her head. It is warm, strong, and speaks of a thousand words repressed by time, and the gesture is so familiar she briefly wonders if the mist has messed up all of their timelines. 

The emptiness in her chest squeezes around nothing. The hair on her arms stand, and she lets go. Steels her nerves. Finds herself staring back at Jeongyeon— her eyes are beady, as though remembering something extremely unpleasant. Nayeon thinks she is beautiful.

Then it unfurls, like the stars have finally, finally aligned, and Nayeon sees the bare beginnings of the truth. There are no fireworks, no rainbows — only a girl stripped of all her false bravado, clutching her still weeping wound, and begging to understand why it still hurts. Why it all went wrong so quickly, and horribly. 

She blinks. Twice. The platform blurs. Jeongyeon’s hair is long. Braided, like a true princess. Her robes are the standard royal gold that makes her eyes pop, and Nayeon thinks she is still beautiful.

“Jeongyeon?” She tries. Dips her toe hesitatingly into the uncertainty between them. It has to be the mist, she thinks. Giving Jeongyeon the memories of her previous life, just for her to understand. To tie up loose ends. 

Jeongyeon nods. It is full of longing, and Nayeon finds herself slipping. Falling a bit deeper. The edges of the platform are white now. She pinches her thigh harshly, to remind her to stay in the present.

“Why did you do it? Betray me, and the rebellion?”

The question floats through her insecurities. The one she’d never found the answer for, even after a thousand years, and Nayeon opens her heart for the truth.

“My father knew about your plans,” Jeongyeon hangs her head in shame. “He knew about us, and threatened me with it. Said he would blame the entire uprising on you, and execute you publicly, if I didn’t stand with him, on his side.” 

The words are heavy. The truth is a ton of lead dragging through whatever’s left of her ragged conscience, and tingles with yet another jolting realisation that everything Jeongyeon did was  _ for  _ her. To save her. Even at the cost of her own people, and Jeongyeon’s future. 

Answers are not everything. Especially when there is so much torment existing behind the weight of the question. Or when it turns out to be something completely unexpected, and makes the arduous journey of seeking it seem pointless. It calls upon more shame for Nayeon, because Jeongyeon’s eyes are nothing but sincere, and all the anger she’d carried was for naught, if only she’d believed in Jeongyeon. That the other girl would never do something like that, unless it was really, really needed. Because every action has a reason behind it, right?

“I— I thought— you hated me.” The shock still remains. Echoes in her thoughts. Thinks of the hate that coursed through her veins, when she had driven her sword into Jeongyeon back then, with no hesitation. “Did it hurt? When I killed you?” 

Jeongyeon shakes her head. “I knew you would come back to do it. I was ready.” 

Nayeon is sorry. Apologies would barely serve to fix anything, but Nayeon says them anyway. Repeats it, until she wears her lips out; until her ears hear nothing but her own mistake; until Jeongyeon takes her hand in hers and tells her that it's okay.

“I understand.” Jeongyeon smiles. It is lopsided. Nayeon sees the fragments of broken promises embedded in it, and feels the same pieces stuck in her heart. “I’m sorry, too.” 

There are soft fingers on the curve of her jaw. They trace bits of everything they could have had into her. Rekindles the yearning and regret, and it aches in her bones. But it bottlenecks right at her throat and the words aren’t coming out — 

Maybe they don’t have to, after all. Jeongyeon looks at her with forgiveness. Nayeon thinks she has always been beautiful. Doesn’t trust her own limbs to move. Locks her arms at her sides, because the limbo between time frames is dangerous, and already she can see the stitches in this particular fabric — 

Jeongyeon comes closer. The space between them no longer matters when all Nayeon can see is the wistful stardust twinkling in the other girl’s eyes. She wants to collect it. To watch it manifest, and grow into the brightest star that would watch over them all for thousands of years to come, while the sky safeguards all their secrets. 

But alas, she cannot — and so she closes her eyes. Settles for one last memory. Seals it softly, with lips pressed against her own like a final blessing, and does her best to let go. Her chest is lighter. 

Nayeon opens her eyes. The platform comes back into view, pressing play on the present. Jeongyeon is still here, but no longer in her royal robes and braided hair— this is  _ her  _ Jeongyeon, in her stupid suit jacket: the Jeongyeon who will guide her home. 

The other girl smiles, eyes disappearing into curves, before slumping forward, unconscious, as though something has left her — Nayeon catches her first. Then sees it, the small beads of energy that dissipate into the wind, and into the mist. She squints for a moment more, before realising that it spells out something that looks like — 

_ Goodbye _ .

  
  
  


/

  
  
  


Tzuyu comes to the hotel, as expected. Enters the lobby with round glossy eyes, searching and curious, with a teary-eyed Sana in tow.

Nayeon watches from the second floor. Ever since the incident with the human boy, they’ve all learnt to be more vigilant (read: Sana taking special care not to abandon her post at the door), and she spends more time monitoring the activities happening: Tzuyu looks nothing like what Nayeon last remembers of her, in the hospital — it seems as though she’s chosen the form of her younger years, face delicately framed by her long black locks, and Nayeon snorts at how the other girl towers over Sana, and practically anyone else they pass. The height difference is hilarious. 

“Will she leave soon?” Jeongyeon muses. She, too, has doubled efforts in her overseeing duties, despite the decreasing number of guests. Rumours of a full closure are already widespread, and at this point Nayeon thinks they don’t have any more secrets from each other. 

“Probably. This is what she’s been waiting for.” She nods. Preparations are already underway, and Sana has made special arrangements for their VIP services to be made available to Tzuyu. Nayeon doesn’t fight the upward tug at her own lips, because Sana hasn’t stopped smiling since Tzuyu stepped in, and had even volunteered to give the official hotel tour — to which Jeongyeon had obviously obliged, more than happy to observe from afar. 

There is a hand in hers. Nayeon has come to appreciate moments like this much, much more, when it’s just the two of them against the ticking seconds of time. Fleeting, but substantial — she can no longer afford to be picky. Because Jeongyeon is here: Yoo Jeongyeon, hotel manager, keeper of her non-existent heart. They don’t talk about the elephant in the room, because Nayeon thinks Jeongyeon’s larger-than-life presence is enough for her to not think about anything else until then, and Jeongyeon, too, knows better. 

It makes the near future a little sweeter. 

“Do you get to choose what to come back as?” Jeongyeon nudges her shoulder. Her eyes dance with a curiosity haphazardly draped over something else Nayeon doesn’t want to see. She is thankful. “Like, with the whole reincarnation thing. Is it limited to humans? Can you come back as an animal?” 

“An animal?” Nayeon laughs loudly, teeth and all. “Asking the right questions, Yoo Jeongyeon,” She teases. Jabs Jeongyeon’s side. They squabble for a bit, giggling like schoolgirls, before she slaps the other girl’s hands away and thinks about it seriously. “Wow. I’ve never even thought about that. Jihyo only ever talks about human lives, though.” 

“Humans are boring.” Jeongyeon scrunches up her face. It is still adorable, and Nayeon has given up on trying to understand how. “How about living life as an animal? It’s like getting to experience the same things, but very differently.” 

To be honest, she hasn’t really given it much thought. They don’t get to choose their next life, but Nayeon hasn’t forgotten the myths about it being based on the previous life — if good things were done in this one, there’s a higher chance that the next life would be much easier. Better. Less misery and whatnot. 

She imagines it. A life without Jeongyeon. With someone else, supposedly, to fill up the missing bits. It’s… going to be different, for sure. 

The near future is suddenly sour. Nayeon grimaces. Swallows it away, before glossing over the bitterness it leaves at the back of her tongue.

“If I could choose?” She humours Jeongyeon. “Maybe a rabbit. Sana and Momo think I look like one, when I smile.” Then pulls a weird face. Opens her mouth just enough to show her two front teeth, and watching Jeongyeon laugh makes it worth it. 

“Oh please,” Nayeon flips her hair back dramatically. “I would be the cutest rabbit.” Opens her eyes huge, and blinks excessively. Two times, consecutively. Exaggerates a little more until Jeongyeon starts faux barfing, and rolls her eyes, grinning.

“Sana would probably be a rat.” Nayeon continues. “She looks like one anyway.” Thinks out loud. She pulls out her phone. Swipes across her photo album, and finds the one photo that would always remind her of it— 

Jeongyeon doubles over in a fit of laughter. It rings loudly across the empty hallway. Nayeon joins in, because Sana really does look like a mouse in this photo. Back when they were remodelling the hotel, and tried to build a hill for nature-related activities like hiking, Sana had proposed paragliding, and Nayeon remembers Momo and her lying on the grass laughing at how ridiculous Sana had looked with her helmet on. 

“What about you?” She tosses the question back, when they’ve calmed down somewhat. “If you could choose?” 

Jeongyeon is silent, for a bit. Nayeon thinks the drop in atmosphere is a little too severe, when the other girl keeps staring at her own reflection in her polished shoes, even after awhile, and moves to get her attention, or do something drastic enough to break the weird sombre air threatening to cloak them — 

“A firefly.” Jeongyeon lifts her head. The mirth that came with the teasing earlier is nowhere to be found. In its place is a sincere, well thought out answer, that makes her look too mature for her age. This, Nayeon thinks, is the worst thing that the human managers eventually leave with, and is something she will always be sorry for. Being privy to the coming and going of life hardens them, for sure, but also takes away the naive illusions of the fairytale endings they grew up believing in. “I like them. They’re the brightest when it's dark. And they can be a source of light, or something, if you catch a few.” 

It’s such a Jeongyeon answer. Something that once again speaks volumes of her inane need to help others. Being the bigger person, even if it means sacrificing parts of herself, and Nayeon can only sigh. Drags her eyes away from the potential depth of this conversation, and tries to establish some kind of middle ground, like always.

“How noble,” she goes for sarcasm. Her words are empty, but they weigh heavily on her ears and squeeze her throat and the elephant in the room grows bigger. Obscures Jeongyeon entirely, and takes up the entirety of Nayeon’s vision— 

“They’re pretty,” Jeongyeon treads gently. “Just like you.” Loops her arm around Nayeon’s. Bends to kiss her cheek swiftly, before puffing out her chest smugly. And just like that, their looming end fades away, and Nayeon forgets. Temporarily. It makes her blush an embarrassing shade of red that would have put her to shame, but she doesn’t have it in her to care anymore— not when Jeongyeon is here, by her side. Just like she will be, when Nayeon crosses the finish line, one step at a time.

She hits Jeongyeon’s shoulder playfully. To which the other girl only laughs, and tugs on her hand gently. Points towards the lobby. Probably to meet Tzuyu, Nayeon thinks. But at this point Jeongyeon’s enthusiasm has already sliced through the remaining hesitance brought about by her lingering shyness, and Nayeon follows unabashedly. Clings onto the other girl tightly, and chooses to bask in the happiness she has now.

Jeongyeon smiles like she deserves the world. Nayeon thinks she deserves much more.

  
  
  


/

  
  
  


Sana leaves three days later, together with Tzuyu. 

There are no tears, because it is a happy occasion. The end of an era. The beginning of another. It is yet another quick send-off — Sana has already said her goodbyes. They hug at the platform, right after Jeongyeon finishes her saying formal goodbye blessings, and as Sana disappears into the mist, hand-in-hand with Tzuyu, Nayeon feels an ache settling in her chest. Of course, it doesn’t compare to the one in Mina’s, as she watches the younger girl crumple into quiet sobs, and runs away. Far, far away, from the hotel, and all of them.

Momo leaves the day after. It is sudden, and also not, because the full moon is approaching, and they are already down to their last days. All the other employees have already left, and with Momo’s departure, it’s just Jeongyeon and her on the platform. The ache in her chest is still there, and Nayeon thinks she will have to carry it into the mist. The smile that Jeongyeon sends her way eases away some of it, but there is one more thing left to do, before she will allow herself to drown in Jeongyeon’s embrace, until her time is up. 

Nice Jihyo is in the garden, as always, whenever Nayeon is looking for her. She wears the same floral dress, like any other day, but her eyes are dim and her lips are pursed. It is fitting for a final welcome, and a last meeting. 

“Why the long face?” Nayeon injects levity into her words. Curves her eyes into something she hopes resembles reassurance. “At this rate you’re going to be uglier than that bitch sister of yours.”

The corner of Nice Jihyo’s lip twitches. But it disappears before Nayeon can say anything else along the lines of fluffy weather talk, because Jihyo opens her arms. There’s that floral scent again, wafting through the air purposefully, as though waiting. 

Nayeon obliges. Steps into the embrace. Closes her eyes.The ache in her bones no longer weighs a ton, and her chest warms with the faraway spring sun she sees behind her eyelids. It is beautiful. The world is beautiful. 

“You did well, Im Nayeon.” The Goddess pats her back. “I’m proud of you. I always will be.” 

Her eyes water. Grips the back of Jihyo’s dress in a bid to repress the tears, but some of it leaks out anyway. The three words that would always enter her non-existent heart effortlessly. It is different from when Jeongyeon said it, but her bottom lip shakes anyway as she tries to think of something to say, that wouldn’t render her a complete crying mess in front of a higher being of sorts — 

“Thank you,” Nayeon forces out. Hopes her voice doesn’t give her away, but then again: there is nothing that the Goddess doesn’t know. It is something she conveniently chooses to overlook in favour of saving face, and Nice Jihyo will be nice enough to go along with the flow. “Thank you for believing in me.” 

The floral scent swirls around inside her chest. Intensifies, with each breath she takes, and overwhelms her with an unspoken gratitude no words can be worthy of. So she returns Nice Jihyo’s hug for as long as she can, until her eyes are dry and her mind is fortified with dried concrete she put her faith in, blindly. Because it's Jihyo. 

They enjoy the last sunset, lounging under the faithful tree that has been through it all, with her. The grass under her legs is no longer soft. The blades are dead and dry, but Nayeon makes no move to stand up — she is a sentimental sap, and nostalgia is an old friend that she will never tire of. 

Nayeon looks up. The tree is more or less barren, with petals littering the floor. The bark of the tree has lost its sheen. It is shedding, like how it used to, and Nayeon appreciates it all. Things coming full circle. It was a good run.The serenity of it all lulls her into a peaceful daze, until her mind empties itself and — 

She sees it. The lone remaining flower, sitting on one of the branches. The petals are a darker shade of purple. They droop, hanging just by a thread. An incredible desperation to not let go. To stay where it is, because it has been given a chance to. Because it does not want to go.

It’s like Jihyo reads her mind, because the next thing she knows, the flower  _ falls.  _ Slow, graceful, and unwilling — Nayeon wants to laugh at how accurate it is, as a metaphor for her departure. Nice Jihyo flicks her finger, and the flower hovers in the air, petals fluttering in the evening breeze. 

“Any last words?” The Goddess looks over to her, magic overflowing — the petals are moving. Dancing. Nayeon squints — and snorts. There is a vague outline of a human figurine, and it’s doing what looks like the latest Tiktok challenge from that dumb app Jeongyeon loves so much. The prim and proper Nice Jihyo is gone, and Nayeon thinks this meeting of theirs will probably not qualify as business-related — 

Oh. Jeongyeon. 

“Can you do me a favour?” Nayeon pushes. Pouts. This is the last time she’s allowed to do something as reckless as this. She is strangely reminiscent, and feels the beads of time flowing out of her palm. 

Nice Jihyo looks at her. Doesn't say anything, but her eyes twinkle conspiratorially and Nayeon takes it as a yes. The grin that splits across her face is enough for her to lean in eagerly, without caring about the repercussions whatsoever, and she gives her best pitch. She is confident that the Deities will allow her this, on the account of her completing what she set out to do, and manning the hotel for almost a thousand years. Just this — 

The Goddess snaps her fingers. Something lands on Nayeon’s palm, in her lap. It's the purple flower, from earlier. It’s brighter than before, coming back to life with a secret that they share. She closes her fingers around it, careful not to crush it, and nods in tandem to Nice Jihyo’s flawless reiteration of her plan. 

At least there’s something left to look forward to.

  
  
  


/

  
  
  


The hotel is deathly silent. She wakes up feeling more refreshed than she has ever had in the thousand years she remembers, and picks out her favourite purple dress. It’s the same shade as that of the flowers that once bloomed on the tree in the garden, and Nayeon takes a small comfort in having something to commemorate them.

Yesterday’s flower sits on her bedside table, waiting. She picks it up, delicately. Tucks it in her pocket. Looks around the room one last time. The portraits of herself over the years, evolving over time with technology, colour and resolution— the only things that are left behind by the human managers who come and go. Her eyes come to a slow halt at the latest one she made Jeongyeon take yesterday: she is smiling, like in all the other photos, but the happiness in her eyes can be seen even from a distance away.

It’s not every day she’s willing to go through the effort of setting up her bellow-style camera. It is a shitload of work, and only for very, very important occasions, like adding a memoir to her self-portrait collection on the wall. And because they had nothing better to do, Nayeon had turned it into a full blown photoshoot, with exaggerated outfit changes that made Jeongyeon crack up so badly she ended up in tears. It was also the only time Nayeon had ever seen the other girl cry, and it had briefly allowed Nayeon a quick glimpse into what she assumes is another timeline of them, where none of this would matter and where their days would be infinite and she would be able to live freely, without worrying about her own countdown — 

There is a knock on her door. Jeongyeon stands at the entrance, waiting. Her hair is combed to the side, like how it was when she first entered the hotel. The memory comes up easily, a small comparison that ties things up neatly, and Nayeon smiles at the beauty of the full circle of things. Of life. It’s no surprise that she notices more of it as she approaches the end — it’s like how humans speak of seeing flashbacks of their life moments before they leave, and Nayeon takes it in stride.

“Did you sleep well?” She greets. Walks over. Closes the door behind them. It is heavier than usual. Nayeon thinks it probably carries the weight of all the memories she will leave behind, today. She slips her hand into Jeongyeon’s. Falling into step with the other girl is already second nature by now, and Nayeon lets herself savour the feeling of Jeongyeon’s fingers fitted with hers. 

“Yes,” Jeongyeon lies. Nayeon looks past it, even though the other girl’s lips are slanted down the way they do when she says something she doesn’t mean, as the other girl launches into one of her tirades about the public transportation system, which she is still a slave to. The constant chattering fills up whatever space previously needed for a conversation, and Nayeon is thankful because she doesn’t want to ruin the mood yet. Not yet. She will take every second she can get. 

They reach the platform. It is eerie, like always, but it doesn’t make her skin crawl today. The air is different. There is a lingering sweetness that was never there before, and the mist is whiter than usual. Like a strange beckoning.

Jeongyeon’s hand in hers tightens. Neither of them say anything. They stand like that, in silence, until Nayeon knows no other sound other than the quiet breaths of the girl beside her, until her mind pours out everything she has ever known. Even then, her thoughts never stray far from Jeongyeon, and they are viscous memories that will cling onto the recesses of her brain for as long as they can.

The sun sets, together with the last grains of sand in her hourglass. The full moon is out. It dominates the night sky with its clear white radiance. Nayeon knows it’s time. 

“Remember what you promised me, Yoo Jeongyeon.” She turns to face the girl. Drops their joined hands, only because she knows that Jeongyeon won’t — she has to be the stronger one out of them. Pushes down the pain that comes with the loss of contact. It’s the least she can do, after taking away so much. To show some decency, for the only person left, in this lifetime of hers.

The flower in her pocket is heavy. She retrieves it, slim fingers exuding the grace and gentleness it deserves — it is still glowing. Glitters under the moonlight, like a crystal ball that shows the future. It isn’t as opaque as it was yesterday.

Nayeon extends her arm. Holds it out. “My last gift to you.” She smiles, soft and small. The flower pales in comparison to Jeongyeon, but this is the best she can do, without breaking too many rules, and Nayeon thinks it will be worth it. 

But just as Jeongyeon moves to receive it with a slow, unwilling sadness, Nayeon withdraws. Steps forward. Puts the flower in the other girl’s hair. Tucks the tiny stem behind her ear, and brushes away the lone strand that made its way across her face, back to where it should be. Just like how things should be. Her fingers linger on the shell of Jeongyeon’s ear, ivory skin contrasting heavily against the purple of the flower, and admires her handiwork. Jeongyeon is beautiful; she has always been. Today is no different. 

“Will you remember me?”

Jeongyeon’s words are timid, but they rip the anchor in her chest out with a force unmatched. The pain that ricochets is worse than whatever heartbreak there might be, which wouldn’t be possible for her now non-existent heart, but still — it is a heartache that plaits itself into a band she will wear on her wrist, for the world to see. For her to remember. 

(She won’t.)

“Goodbye, Jeongyeon.” She bows, after Jeongyeon does her standard farewell greetings robotically. Looks at the girl, in her three piece suit. The moonlight glows, and for a moment it looks as though there is a halo, illuminated by the moonlight, hovering over the other girl’s head. Nayeon thinks she must have done really well this time to be deserving of an angel guiding her into the light.

Jeongyeon is beautiful. Nayeon bares the crevice in her heart, and meets Jeongyeon’s eyes one last time. Jeongyeon smiles. Her face is hard, but her eyes are spilling with forgiveness made of cotton that Nayeon wants so badly to cradle in the palm of her hands. She commits it to memory, for as long as it will last, and turns around. Walks into the mist thinking of nothing but Jeongyeon’s smile, and feels her last seconds whizz by — 

Then there’s nothing. Absolutely nothing, but white, and more white and — 

(She forgets.)

  
  
  


/

  
  
  


The flower in Jeongyeon’s hair disintegrates, minutes after Nayeon’s departure. They leave behind purple specks that float in the wind, surrounding her. She stares at them silently. Waiting, maybe. But for what? 

Then they disappear, too. She reaches out to close her fingers around one of them, but it’s gone before she can blink. Right before her very eyes; just like Nayeon. 

She clutches the air in her palm, where the purple speck was just at. Her feet don’t move. The helplessness glues her to the present, where everything is empty.

The platform flickers. Jeongyeon blinks. The moon above is bright and clear and glowing, and there is a sudden beam of intense light that forces her to shut her eyes, and look away — 

When she manages to open her eyes, she finds herself standing on gravel, in an empty plot of land. Seoul is surprisingly quiet at night for a metropolitan city, and the silence rings in her ears. It does absolutely nothing to fill the hole in her heart. 

Jeongyeon looks around. There is no trace of the hotel, or Nayeon, or Sana, or Momo — she briefly wonders if it was all a dream.

The gravel crunches under her polished shoes. She stares at it. The moon illuminates her surroundings just a little, but the ground looks dull. Normal. Ordinary. 

The night deepens. Jeongyeon stays there. Stares at the moon a little longer.  _ Just a little longer _ , she thinks. 

The sun rises, slowly. The city comes to life, in bursts of hustles, and still — nothing happens. An entire night, waiting, and waiting. Memorising the burn in her eyes, from staring at the moon. Clamps down on the fruitless wishing and wanting; the emptiness sets in the bottom of her stomach.

She takes a deep breath. Gives her eyes a good wake-up rub, and calls Dahyun.

(She doesn’t cry. She promised not to.)

  
  
  


/

  
  
  


The Grand Hyatt is, well, not short of grand. In addition to its posh interior and comprehensive concierge services, it also boasts an Olympic-sized warm water pool, and a rooftop bar. It’s familiar. It’s amazing, but Jeongyeon thinks somewhere, some time ago, she’s definitely seen better. 

She checks her watch. Her shift ends in ten minutes, and most of the ground staff have already retired for the night, save those working the midnight shift. They bow in greeting when she walks past, and she returns it curtly. Continues walking towards the garden, for one last patrol.

Her suit jacket flaps slowly in the wind. She tugs it closer to her body. It is quiet, because it’s too late for flower appreciation, despite the small lamps lighting the way of the footpath. They are sufficient for safety, but not for anything else, and Jeongyeon is glad for the temporary cover of the dark. 

She admires the flowers, anyway. Barely makes out the colours and shapes, and thinks they’re beautiful. She’s grown to love them, more, ever since. A new fascination. It doesn’t matter that it’s just a token of the past, maybe. 

But then there is a small glow that enters her peripheral— a neon, green dot that moves, slow and steady. Flickering, to the rhythm of her heart, and she  _ stares _ . It buzzes softly. Lands on a flower, and stays there, like it has all the time in the world. Its light continues blinking, as though staring right back at her.

Oh. A firefly? She thinks of a conversation, years ago, with a girl burdened with things that she was never meant to carry, with a heart braver than frontline soldiers, who pushed through her sins and redeemed herself — the very same girl, whom Jeongyeon still sees behind her eyelids, in the longest hour of the night — 

“I hope you’re doing well,” she whispers, into the open air. 

The light of the firefly blinks, two times, consecutively, and Jeongyeon gasps.

  
  
  


/

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> @xylomyloo on twitter and cc!!


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